


Catharsis

by ackermom



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackermom/pseuds/ackermom
Summary: They’re the worst kind of disaster, descending with death and hail; but it’s the kind of storm that spins them around and draws them back in again. Their bodies are never apart for too long until their fingers begin to itch again, to grab at shirt collars and push against walls, until another vicious hurricane leaves Reiner trying to remember his life before this mess.





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr

They’re like a bad accident. They are fire and grit and groans. The taste of blood lingers on their lips, and their clipped fingernails draw claw marks down their bruised skins. They’re the worst kind of disaster, descending with death and hail; but it’s the kind of storm that spins them around and draws them back in again. Their bodies are never apart for too long until their fingers begin to itch again, to grab at shirt collars and push against walls, until another vicious hurricane leaves Reiner trying to remember his life before this mess.

He hated Porco for so long. Galliard was everything he wanted to be, everything he was striving for, and Reiner hated his guts for it, cursed his name in the middle of the night when his small hands were swollen again from a dismal turn in the training ring. When he was chosen for the Paradis mission, he felt like he had won something, finally, and he had won it over Galliard, of all people. He had bested his best rival. His hatred faded quickly after that, his spirit triumphant, his mind preoccupied, and when they left for the island, Galliard was all but forgotten in his memory.

He was startled, then, to find Porco there when he woke up in Marley.

For a moment, it seemed as though any animosity between them had been forgotten. They had both lost so much, and there was so much else to be sorry for. They didn’t have time to think of old rivalries, not for the first few months. Galliard was polite, if not cordial. They broke bread in the canteen. They sparred in the ring. There wasn’t much to fight about anymore: no more titans, no more missions. Unassuming silence settled between them, and as far as Reiner was concerned, that was all there was to it.

But something changed in Galliard. It had been months since Reiner’s return to Marley, and although they worked side by side nearly every day, they hardly spoke. It was these sealed lips that seemed to bother Galliard, and after a while, Reiner began to noticed the irritation in his face: eyes that were quick to flash, lips that irked in annoyance at Reiner’s opinions, and a clench of the jaw every once in a while. It took a few more weeks, a growing distance between them, and a cup of coffee with Pieck for Reiner to realize what was going on.

“You never apologized,” she says between streams of steaming black coffee.

It’s real coffee, the good kind. The kind they don’t sell to Eldians in the ghetto. Reiner watches it flow from the kettle as she pours him another cup, using decidedly more of their rations than she should in one day, and he furrows his brow.

“Apologize for what?” he asks, but he knows as soon as he says it.

He has never apologized for Marcel’s death: at least not to Porco. Reiner has professed sorrow to himself over and over again, until it became the steady rhythm in the back of his mind that allowed him to endure those years on the island. But that time is gone now, and there are so many other things to be sorry for: Annie, Bertholdt, his failure. He has not forgotten Marcel- he never could- but he had not thought about bringing it up with Galliard.

He never does.

He grows bitter too, suddenly inexplicably irritated by Galliard’s irritation; he should had just said something, if it was bothering him so much. He stops playing nice in their sparring matches, and he sees the flame of recognition alight in Galliard’s eyes. This is a fight, now, and they’re both desperate to win. They trade blows with staves until someone loses a tooth and they’re both restrained, lest one of them transform.

Their silence fades everyday until it is long forgotten, and by then, Galliard’s anger is so ugly, so rooted, that he throws Marcel’s name around only as an insult to Reiner. He doesn’t realize the ill will he is doing to his brother’s memory; perhaps he doesn’t care. If it digs the knife deeper into Reiner’s heart, then he’ll use it the best he can.

And he uses whatever he finds.

Reiner’s fist hesitates once, when they’re trading glares and curses in the corridor. He’s tired of all of this, and he just wants Galliard to leave him alone, at least for today. So he pauses before he shoves Galliard away, sending him stumbling backwards. And he’s surprised when Galliard does nothing but watch him. There’s no retaliation: no punch, no swear, nothing. Just a blank stare before he turns and stalks down the hallway, leaving Reiner standing alone in the dark. He didn’t realize then what was going through Galliard’s head, not until the next time, when he was being pushed up against the wall and kissed like he never has been before.

Nothing hurts more than knowing why Galliard is doing this. Reiner’s a fool, but he’s not blind. Galliard knows how to hurt him: digging his hand into Reiner’s heart and tearing out the veins of fear and loneliness that carry his lifeblood. Reiner has let his guard down just enough for Galliard to snatch his vulnerabilities, and god, if he isn’t going to use them in every way he can. He sets a thorn-filled trap and dangles it in front of Reiner with the touch that he so desperately craves.

Reiner sees this trap from afar, and still he walks right into it.

He knows- he knows- exactly what Galliard is doing. But he can’t help himself. There is something so cathartic in the pain that tears through his body when Galliard is done with him: from the fresh scratches across his back to the bleeding, gaping hole in his heart. It hurts so bad, a hurt he thought he could never rival, not after Paradis, not after Bertholdt, but god, it does, and he can’t get enough of it.

Porco doesn’t fuck with words, but Reiner hears his thoughts all the same. He’s not a bad person, but he is malicious; and he wants Reiner to feel every fingernail across his skin, every bruise against his shoulders, every breaking bite mark.

Reiner apologizes, over and over, by letting Galliard shove him against a wall, trip him up the stairs, and drop him onto the bed. He apologizes by kissing back, by saying nothing, by never acknowledging the unexpected turn this battle has taken. He apologizes by knowing that neither of them can ever win this fight; this storm is their punishment, their suffering, their purgatory.


End file.
